


The social Network

by FromBenToSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Facebook, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromBenToSherlock/pseuds/FromBenToSherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There have been no cases for weeks and Sherlock is bored beyond measure, but when he finally finds something to occupy his mind with he has the chance to change something about his life. Will he take it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WingsOfPhantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfPhantasy/gifts), [DearMeMisterHolmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearMeMisterHolmes/gifts).



> This is the first fic I have ever written, so I hope you enjoy this little piece of blissful nonsense :) 
> 
> This work is dedicated to my two favourite Sherlockians, thank you for suffering in Johnlock hell with me♡

“What is Facebook, John?”

It was a lazy Friday morning in 221B. But, to be honest, they have been lazy for weeks now. There were no cases and no matter how often Sherlock texted Lestrade, the DI had nothing for Sherlock to do. So, while John occasionally went to the clinic for a couple of hours, the detective was at home all day. For the last few days, Sherlock has been in a bad mood. He was stroppy and did not know how to busy himself. All experiments he started left him unsatisfied and resulted in one of Sherlock’s usual epic sulks. He just lay on the couch every day, curled up with his knees to his chin, and exhaled noisily. How could there have been no murders, robberies or suicides? It was tedious. Even John could feel it. He did not sleep very long and when he did, he got up and felt like he had not rested at all. No matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to relax, he missed the adrenaline their work brought with it and he was sure that in a week or two even either the tremor in his hand or his limp would return. Possibly both. Regarding this, John nearly choked on his tea when Sherlock, who has not talked for three days now, asked him this question. He looked over to Sherlock, sitting in his armchair, the tips of his long, pale fingers touching his lips in his ‘I have to think – pose’. 

“I…. what?”

“Oh, John, stop dreaming and catch up! I asked you a question! What is Facebook?”

John looked startled, he did not know how to answer that question. Well, if someone else had asked, John would have already answered. But this was Sherlock, and Sherlock was definitely not really interested in a social network the way other people would have been, was he?

“Facebook?”

“Yes, John, Facebook.”

“This social network thingy?”

“So, Facebook is a social network?”

Sherlock frowned; the idea of a social network did not seem to appeal to him. 

“Yes, It’s a social network. Why don’t you just give it a try?”

John felt a glimpse of hope rise in his chest. Maybe there was a little chance to keep Sherlock occupied for at least a day or two? Of course, John knew what he got himself into when he moved to 221B with Sherlock, Sherlock had made clear that he could spend days not talking and playing the violin, but John needed some relief from the tension which was building up in him. As long as Sherlock was sulking, John was in a bad mood as well. John knew he must not fuck this up, or the game would be lost and Sherlock would eventually lose his temper again. The prospect to come home from the clinic to find a more content Sherlock was too tempting.

“Obvious, John. I need more data”

“Okay, Then. What do you want to know?”

John could see Sherlock’s mind working. He could imagine how the detective’s brain tried to find the most efficient way to collect all the data it needed to evaluate the subject. John always admired Sherlock in these brief moments when his green-blue-grey eyes are razor sharp, his brow is raised and his mouth curls a little. He really looks like the genius he truly is then, and John could not help it and stared. He always wondered if Sherlock knew how beautiful and extraordinary he was, and, although Sherlock always pretended to be an arrogant git and enjoyed it when people around him felt dumb and worthless, John knew that Sherlock was hurt every time he was called ‘freak’ and he also knew that Sherlock had no idea how it was to see him through John’s eyes. Yes, Sherlock was arrogant and annoying, but he also was mesmerizing and brilliant. Sherlock was as radiant as the sun and John was circling around him. But before John could drift too far away, Sherlock snapped back, his eyes focused on John.

“First, what exactly do I do there?”

“Hmm, yeah, you can befriend the people you already know. Me, for instance. We would be Facebook friends then”

“Friends?” Sherlock looked sceptical, “John, you already know, I don’t have friends, I only…”

“… Have one, yeah I know that” John already knew that Sherlock would say something like this, but he was not about to give up his course, “You could also get to know other people. Not to befriend them, since this is not your area, but to offer your services as a consulting detective”

Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly wide open and bright with pleasure and John was sure Sherlock was paying attention now. The prospect of potential clients was too tempting for the consulting detective. However, Sherlock tried to look unimpressed.

“And how would that work?”, he asked, not able to hide the anticipating edge in his voice.

“Well, first, you would create yourself a profile, you know, with your picture, your contact details and so on. You could share your interests there. In addition, we could also announce your appearance on Facebook in our blogs. Since we are something like ‘little celebrities’, as your brother likes to refer to us, I’m sure many people will go to see your profile and with this, there is also the chance of finding a new client with an interesting case”

“Mmhh… I have to think about it”, muttered Sherlock, stood up and strode to his bedroom.

John’s mouth curled up in a smile. He knew Sherlock’s mind was occupied for the next hours. He would create himself a profile, would wait for clients writing to him and while waiting, he would visit some profiles and deduce these people’s well-hidden secrets. He would have quite some fun for a while. With this in mind, John went upstairs to get dressed for work. He got his bag from the dresser and went downstairs again to get his coat. Right before he opened the door to go downstairs, something came to John’s mind. He went to Sherlock’s bedroom and knocked. There was no response, but John went in eventually, not expecting a positive answer from Sherlock. Sherlock was sitting on his bed, his legs folded underneath him, his laptop, still closed, right in front of him. He did not even make the effort to look up at John, expecting John to just start talking.

“I just wanted to tell you, there also is a Facebook App for your smartphone. I know you like it better to do everything with your phone as it is handy and you are always fumbling around with it. I thought you might find this useful. I’m off to work, then. I’ll be back around 4.30 pm. See you”

“Yes, very useful…”, Sherlock replied, as if he had not heard the rest of what John has just said, but John knew better than to be angry. Sherlock had something to do now, something to think about, so there simply was no space for profanities in his mind. He was focused now and John was glad. At least there was nothing to worry about today. For the last few days John was constantly worried that, when he came back home from work, Sherlock had set something on fire or got himself killed in one of his experiments. But this was just a social network. There was no way that could go wrong, was there?


	2. Chapter 2

Facebook.

Was it worth a try? It is a social network, after all. People will expect other people to socialize, to behave like society convention dictates it. Tedious and unnecessary. But on the other hand, there were no cases and Sherlock felt as if his mind was about to burst out of his head, to ignore the physical boundaries of his brain just to creep all over the place and go bonkers. And maybe John was right; maybe he could use Facebook as a new way to find clients. He was a consulting detective, after all. The only one in the world. So, maybe a profession as unique as his is in need of new ways to contact clients. Also, there is the positive aspect of not having to have personal contact with boring clients. He could choose to ignore them, if he liked, and did not have to look into their irrelevant faces. It seemed to be not so bad…

With this in mind, Sherlock decided to first take a shower. John was just gone, so Sherlock still had enough time to learn more about Facebook. He went to the bathroom, shrugged his clothes off, turned the shower on and stepped under the hot spray. Normally, he was not wasting time with showering too long, but there still were no cases and he was alone in the flat, so Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy the hot water running down his body, turning his pale, smooth skin slightly pink while heating it up. He let his mind wander around and thought about what he would do next. After showering, Sherlock would shave and put some proper clothes on, a nice black suit and the purple shirt everyone seemed to like. John would possibly be pleased to finally see him properly clothed. Since the adrenaline of their last case faded, Sherlock had no reason to look presentable because he had no reason to go out. So, he just decided to wear pyjama bottoms, a t-shirt and his dressing gown around the flat, which is where he spent his whole time lately, gnawing on John’s nerves constantly. 

John. Sherlock had absolutely no idea how someone as social and kind as John could possibly endure Sherlock’s presence every single day. But somehow, John manages. And he never complained. Well, that was a lie. John had complained repeatedly. He had complained that there never was any milk in the fridge, about the human body parts next to the steaks, about the fact that there was not even a single dish that was entirely safe to use without suffering food poisoning. But still, John had decided to stay. He was present in the whole flat, even now when he wasn’t there. Sherlock could sense him everywhere and for the first time in his life he lived in a place he considered a home. And all this was John’s doing. These thoughts made something in Sherlock’s stomach twitch. He experienced this twitching quite some time lately and did not know what to make out of this. It felt alien to him, something completely out of the line he never got to know before, but it did not feel wrong. Not wrong at all. It felt warm and somehow pleasant if not comfortable. And it always appeared in connection with John. When John complimented him on his brilliant deductions, when John listened to him playing the violin, when John made him tea or brought him something to eat. All these little domestic things John did made Sherlock genuinely happy. Sherlock smiled. 

John. He grabbed his shower gel unconsciously and, after pouring some of it in his palm, let his hands wander over his body. Sherlock felt the skin of his arms and shoulders, his flat chest and stomach and when his hands went further down… OH. Sherlock snapped back to full consciousness and looked down his body to find his cock fully erect there. What was he supposed to make of that? He usually did not get an erection when he showered, so what was different now? He had let his mind wander, he had thought about John. What was all this about? He needed to collect the data. He lived with John for nine years now, but he had been ‘dead’ for two of them. John had killed for Sherlock and Sherlock had killed for John, he even faked his own death to save John. Sherlock had been there when John found out that Mary had cheated on him, when they got divorced and John moved back to 221B. He trusted John unconditionally and still considered him his only friend. But lately, the term friend did not seem to be appropriate, it simply was not enough to refer to what John meant to Sherlock. There was this comfortable feeling around John, the slight twitching in his stomach and now, after nine years, the sexual arousal. Sherlock felt himself blush. 

Was this possible? The only reasonable conclusion that could be drawn from the evidence was, that Sherlock was in love with John. But this was clearly not Sherlock’s area, was it? This was sentiment, something Sherlock was not used to and never really wanted to interfere with his life. On the other side, it was John. John was the exception to everything. Normally, Sherlock found constant company unnecessary and stressful, but John wasn’t. He wanted to have John around, wanted to work and to live with him. He wanted to know the doctor’s opinions on cases and wanted him to listen to all the deductions Sherlock made. He wanted to hear John’s usual ‘Brilliant!’ or ‘Extraordinary!’ after his deductions while he barely even listened to what other people had to say about his deductions. Maybe, sentiment involving John was not as unbearable as it would be with any other person. Maybe it was even desirable and worth some investigation, Sherlock thought and stepped out of the shower to shave and put some clothes on.

 

John was bored, so frustratingly bored he nearly lost sense. All these school kids who just wanted to get a medical certificate to stay at home instead of going to school were driving him mad. Now, at 10 a.m., after the regulars and the occasional school children were tended and sent back home, the clinic was almost empty and John found himself alone in his office with still 6 hours of ‘work’ to go. There was nothing to do for him right now as he had all his paperwork done and neatly ordered in files in his shelf, right next to his medical books on various diseases and injuries he had not seen since he returned from Afghanistan. There were times where he missed his army days, being in the field in constant danger, not to know what could happen next or even if he would live to see the sun rise the following day . He had never felt that alive again. Well, that was only half-true. He always felt like this when he was on a case with Sherlock, when they were hunting down a suspect in a dark alley, when they maybe were even outnumbered and always in danger of getting injured. John needed these moments of peril desperately, craved them like air. When he came back to London after getting injured in Afghanistan, all these clever therapists who have seen ‘a lot of people who’ve been through the same kind of thing’, told him to settle down. He should get a nice job in a clinic or a private practice and could possibly start a family if he would find a nice woman. One of those ‘experts’ even told him to start a blog about his life after war. John snorted at the mere thought of it. 

At first, there had been no life after war. He had been alone in his pathetic flat, waiting for something to happen. But the only thing that really happened to him was that he woke up in panic, panting and sweaty, because he had suffered another nightmare. He didn’t even know who he really was. But then he had met Mike Stamford again and that was the day his life changed. He got to know Sherlock and had been so taken by this man, that he instantly knew he would not leave his side. So he didn’t. The moment Sherlock had stepped into his life with all his brilliant deductions about John and what his life once used to be – John still chuckled when he thought about Sherlock’s frustrated expression when he found out Harry was his sister and not his brother – made his life as colourful as it once was. Sherlock filled his grey and dull life with the brightest colours and John would never let anyone take this from him. Not again. When Sherlock faked his death, something John still does not want to think about, John’s life was not only grey and dull again, it was empty and John felt numb. It was like someone ripped his heart out of his chest but instead of dying he lived on without a heart, without blood pulsing in his veins, without any sense. Somehow he was alive, he ate and drank when he had to, but on the other side, he wasn’t and he didn’t want to. 

Baker Street had felt lifeless without Sherlock and John could not possibly stand returning to this flat everyday, knowing that Sherlock would not be there waiting for him. So he moved out. That apartment had ben almost as shabby as his first after Afghanistan and is was empty, which was a blessing, after all. There were no constant reminders of Sherlock’s existence and there John finally stopped seeing Sherlock when he entered and hearing him play the violin in the middle of the night. Sometimes he returned to Baker Street to have a cup of tea with Mrs Hudson who did not have the heart to find some new inhabitants for 221B. But even though John had tried to smile and somehow had managed to move on with his life, everyone had seemed to be constantly worried about him. Sarah did not want him to spend his lunch breaks at work alone so she came in everyday with sandwiches to keep him company. He appreciated the fact that she cared about him, but there had been no difference, to be honest. All his friends and colleagues could have surrounded him and it still would have felt like there was something, or rather someone, missing. John’s eyes began to sting; the thought of this time still was difficult to bear. 

But then there had been Mary and everything changed again. She was warm and kind and John felt like he finally had found something like a home again. She wasn’t like Sherlock, of course, she wasn’t dangerous, dark and twisted, she did not drag him along the streets of London. Where Sherlock had been like smooth steel and glass, hard and cold, Mary had been like wood, warm and cosy. She was like balm on his still open wounds and John had felt like, for the first time, the idea of a family was not bad at all. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, John was wide-awake and felt like he was bursting. Yes, he loved Mary, more than he had believed himself to be capable of, but there still was this little, tiny voice in his head that could not believe that Sherlock Holmes was dead. Sometimes, John dared to hope, a little spark in his chest rising and filling him with warmth he had only felt when Sherlock was around, but eventually John had shoved these hopes back to the farthest corner of his mind, back to where they belonged. He had seen him jump, had seen his lifeless body on the pavement, had seen all the blood in his pale face and his black curls, had been at his funeral. There was no doubt, Sherlock Holmes had committed suicide, he was dead, the light of Sherlock’s brilliant mind had finally gone out. But a fire burning that bright, it seemed, was not meant to last. But it had lasted; and it could take more than John had thought humanly possible. 

After two years, Sherlock came back from the dead. He just came back, like nothing had happened. Normally, John would have been glad, but seeing Sherlock, after two years of grief and agony, brought him into a state of shock. Of course, John was still sorry for attacking Sherlock, for attacking Sherlock several times, to be exact, but there had been something relieving about it. In the end, John forgave Sherlock and vice versa, but he did not move back to 221 B, at least not for the time being. He had married Mary, and on his wedding day he could not have been happier. Of course, the incident with Major Sholto had somehow casted a cloud over the celebration, but John had found the love of his life and he had his best friend back, now at his side as his best man. John remembered how Sherlock had deduced Mary’s pregnancy and he also remembered that he had thought that his life had been perfect and that all the bad times he had to go trough had been worth it. 

Oh, how wrong he had been. He still guessed that Sherlock had known all along. He must have known, but he had not wanted to hurt John. But Sherlock had known that John would find out eventually and so he had not seemed to be surprised at all when John, after only one year of marriage, stumbled into 221 B, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy from crying, dragging a suitcase into the flat behind him. Sherlock, sitting in his armchair, and John, still standing in the doorway, had just stared at each other in silence. Sherlock had known, it had been written all over his face. After what had seemed like hours, Sherlock had taken one deep breath with his eyes shut before finally getting up and dragging the other armchair, which formerly had been John’s, back to where it had been standing before John had moved in with Mary. This had been Sherlock saying “I’m very sorry for what happened to, I don’t even pretend to know what you are going through, but yes, you can have your room back and I will be here for you when you need me” without using words. And although Sherlock had been very subtle with this gesture, John had known what Sherlock had wanted to say. So, John had stepped in, shut the door, and had slumped down in his armchair, leaning forward while hiding his face in his hands. All this, sitting in his old armchair in 221 B, having Sherlock with him, it had felt like the time before Mary and the finality of it had hit John with a blow. His marriage had failed miserably, his wife had been cheating on him even before she really had been his wife and the child he had thought he was never lucky enough to have, was not his child. Of course, Mary had tried to explain. She had told him how she really loved John but she still had felt like she was competing with Sherlock, even in the time when he had been dead. She had told him how she felt alone when he was out on a case or had had a pint in the pub with Greg. In Mary’s opinion, it was John’s fault that she had been cheating. The memory made him smile bitterly. She had not been sorry, she had just been searching for some random excuses to justify her behaviour. But for John, this had been the end. It had all been a lie and, then and there, in the sitting room of 221 B, in the sudden realisation of it, John finally broke down. He had cried and shuddered, had not been able to even talk. 

But Sherlock had been there, he had not said anything, but he had been there all the time. He had been standing next to him, a hand on John’s shoulder as a sign of reassurance. Once John had been calmer, Sherlock had left his side to reach for his phone to call – YES, actually call instead of text – Mycroft. Before Sherlock could even say a word, the older Holmes brother had begun to speak. John could not understand a single word Mycroft was saying, but the reason for the call had been too obvious. “Yes, as quickly as possible…. I don’t care which of your minions is sent, just get this done…. Everything! Don’t you dare let them leave anything behind! … Yes, most certainly, come around in a few days, we will deal with it”. And with this Sherlock had finished the call. Of course, John had known what this had been about. One of Mycroft’s minions, as Sherlock liked to call them, was to gather all the things in the flat he had shared with Mary and in a few days, Mycroft would drop by with the papers necessary for not only divorcing Mary, but to annul their marriage. He had looked up at Sherlock, who had been back at his side by then. “Thank you”, John had muttered, his voice hoarse from crying.

Two years have passed since then and to John it just seemed like a nightmare fading away from his memory. Yes, it had been tragic that his marriage had failed, that the only woman he had loved enough to picture a future with her had been unfaithful and not worthy, but in the end, John now was where he truly belonged. He was home again. Back in his and Sherlock’s flat in Baker Street, with Sherlock, healthy and alive, and with Mrs Hudson downstairs, occasionally bringing up some biscuits for tea and cleaning the sitting room although the always insisted on how she was not their housekeeper. John had eventually stopped pitying himself and had realised that this was what he really wanted, what he would always chose again, if someone offered him to relive his life. John was happy now; he was content. The realisation of this made John smile genuinely. And it was in that moment, when John sat in his office, smiling at how his life had turned back for good, that his smartphone vibrated in his trousers. As there were no patients in the clinic, he pulled his mobile out und unlocked it. His Facebook app showed him one notification, so he opened it, almost knowing what was about to come. When his timeline opened and he tapped at the red notification icon his smile became even brighter. The notification said “Sherlock Holmes has sent you a friend request”. So he had really done it. John tapped the icon to accept the request, keen to see what would happen next.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock sat, freshly showered and fully clothed, in the sitting room in 221B and stared at his phone. He had just installed the Facebook app and was about to sign up when he decided he first needed a cup of tea. So he abandoned his phone for the time being and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, all milky and sugary just as he liked it. As soon as he had filled his cup, he went back to the sitting room und nipped at his tea, which made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Why was it that the tea he made was not in the slightest as good as the tea John made? While John’s tea was perfectly balanced regarding the ratio of tea to sugar and milk, Sherlock’s tea was somehow watery and way too bitter for his taste. After another bitter sip of tea, he abandoned the still nearly full cup and decided to wait for John to make a proper cup of tea. With that he turned his attention to his phone again, opened the Facebook app and began to sign up for Facebook. First of all he had to enter the necessary information like his e-mail address and his name, his birthday and, surprisingly, his gender. Why would his gender matter? Nevertheless, entering these boring pieces of information was tedious work and he definitely had to remember change his accounts settings to hiding his birthday. It would be inconceivable if all people who saw his Facebook profile would know about his birthday and, even worse, would send their congratulations on his birthday. And he would have to thank them because John, kind as he is, would insist on Sherlock being kind enough to acknowledge their good intentions. He really should know better.

 

He kept a reminder to change the settings in mind and continued to sign up. After entering a password and confirming his identity (what kind of confirmation was this? Giving them his phone number just to get a text with 6 numbers did not seem to be the best idea, but at least there was the option of keeping his phone number secret so it can not be seen in his profile) he had to chose a picture for his profile. As there was no picture of himself on his phone (why would someone have pictures of himself on his phone?) he copied the picture of him from John’s blog and used it as a profile picture. He never particularly approved of this picture, seeing that it was the one where he wore the deerstalker hat, but he would have to find a sufficient alternative later. After confirming given picture, the app told Sherlock to find his friends.

 

 _Ahh, here is the exciting part,_ Sherlock thought and paused for a moment, lowering his hands with his phone. “I don’t have friends, I only have one”, he once said and he had honestly meant it. He still means it. John was the only person he had ever considered to be his friend, and, although he would never want to risk this friendship again, he found things were shifting there. Ever since John split up with Mary and moved back to Baker Street, there was something. Of course, this ‘something’ had always been there, he had felt it right after their first joint chase through London, both panting in the hallway of 221, smiling and giggling like lunatics, and he trusted that John had felt it, too. They have had plenty of these moments, but after Sherlock’s ‘death’ and John’s short-lived marriage, there have been more of these gazes. They appeared not only during the adrenalin-high of a solved case, but also in the confinement of their flat. Sherlock often found himself staring at John while he typed on his blog and found John just as often staring at him while he played the violin. Before, when one of them caught the other one staring, both men’s eyes shifted to the floor, trying to ignore the tension, which had grown during this quick exchanged glance. But after everything that had happened, it almost seemed like both men just did not want to miss a single opportunity to see each other, as if they had to make up for the times when they had not been together. But none of them ever made the first move to talk about it. Every single time one of them drew a deep breath as if to start saying something of significant importance, but they always got either interrupted or one of them tried to say something that led away from the tension to something trivial. They were British, after all; acknowledging feelings and, even worse, addressing them really wasn’t their cup of tea. But yes, there was definitely something going on there, Sherlock had to admit that. He just needed a good idea how to address that topic without taking the risk to scare John off and making him back away yet again.

 

When Sherlock’s attention shifted back to his mobile phone and Facebook, he figured it would be a socially acknowledged convention to also sent friend requests to people he did not really consider as friends but as acquaintances who did not bother him as much as the general population did. So, after sending John a friend request Sherlock clicked through John’s friend list and found, after scrolling through former army mates and doctor’s whom John had met during one of these dreadful medical trainings he had to attend occasionally, Lestrade’s and Molly’s profiles and decided to send them requests as well, as they were bearable enough in Sherlock’s opinion and never meant any harm to him. To Sherlock’s surprise, he even found Mrs Hudson amongst John’s friends and sent a fourth request. He didn’t even know his landlady owned a computer or another of the necessary devices, but somehow he was happy she did. Sherlock found himself particularly fond of his landlady, as she always had enough sense to not touch his experiments and not judge him for living with another man. Ever since he got to know the lady, Sherlock always held her in high regard and he would never allow anybody to harm her in any way, even if the harming person was his own brother telling the landlady to shut up. With that, Sherlock thought, he had sent enough requests for the time being. He wanted to start with the editing of his profile now, as this seemed to be the most interesting part of creating a Facebook profile.

 

So tapped at the icon that said “Update Info” and started with the information about his education adding the boarding school his parents made him attend and his studies of chemistry at university. Afterwards, he added Sussex as his hometown and London as the city he currently lives in. Now, he was asked about his Job. The app offered him various kinds of jobs he was likely to have and even offered him the option ‘I don’t have a job right now’. Pathetic. As if this would apply to him, even the offer was an insult. With this, he entered himself as his employer and added ‘consulting detective’ as his current position to find that the next site wanted him to add his family to his profile. Sherlock snorted at this idea. As if he would add Mycroft or the other one to his profile considering the fact that Mycroft knew too much about his life anyway and he had not seen the other one in ages, not to mention that Sherlock had no idea where his other sibling currently was. So, he skipped this section as well as the next one where he was asked to share information about where he had worked in the past. He did not want anyone to know about his past, as it mostly was a time he himself was not comfortable with and did not want to think about. All this was over now and even if he occasionally thought about getting high again when his mind was overwhelmed and he had nothing to focus on, he would never again give in to these cravings. He knew John had never agreed with his ways of keeping his mind under control and he feared that John would leave if Sherlock would turn back to his addiction. And this was the only thing Sherlock was sincerely afraid of. Although he had spent most of his life on his own and was quiet used to it, now that he was not alone anymore he found he also did not want to be alone anymore. There was no way he could stand the silence in the flat if he had to live alone again. No, there were more important things than drugs, and John was on top of that list.

 

Sherlock continued editing his profile, adding English, German, French, Latin and Spanish to the list of the languages he spoke and explaining about the science of deduction in the section reserved for professional skills. All these information about his life were nothing but boring. Most of the people who knew him already knew all these things about him, but now he was facing the problem of offering information no one, not even Sherlock himself, obtained.

 

Facebook was asking him to share his relationship status. Of course, there was the option of skipping this section as well as he had skipped the family section before, but somehow he did not want to skip it. He had reasons to withhold information about his family, considering that Mycroft probably was the mightiest man in the country and no one other than his family knew about the existence of his other sibling, but there was no reason other than cowardice to withhold this information about his life, and Sherlock hated cowardice. But Sherlock did not know what his relationship status was, and that was the thing Sherlock hated most. He despised not knowing. Of course, if one considered the given facts, Sherlock was single, but there was something more to it. This… whatever it was, what he and John had built up during the last years was too precious to him to just refer to himself as single. Originally, Sherlock had planned to think about these feelings regarding John later, but as it seemed, now was the time to analyse whatever he felt towards John Watson.

 

Sherlock considered the given facts. He knew John for several years now and had lived with him just as long. John somehow tolerated every experiment Sherlock contaminated the kitchen with and endured every temper Sherlock was in. John simply was different. Sherlock did not really understand why, but their personal relationship had survived everything. It had survived the occasional rows they have had, all the danger they have been in; it had survived Sherlock’s fall and his death and it had survived John’s marriage. It seemed that they could survive everything life gave them, the good things and bad ones. They had a bound no one really understood, not even Sherlock himself. John and every tiny bit of feeling that came with him were a miracle that Sherlock was not able to analyse properly. But everything about it felt good. It felt not only good; it felt right, as if he was made to feel it. Sherlock could not help but wonder if this was what real love felt like. He had always thought himself immune to these parts of the human nature, but as there was no other option, Sherlock was quite sure he was in love. Sherlock Holmes was in love with John Watson.

 

 

Sometimes, John hated his job. Of course, this job was good to somehow get a glimpse of what living a normal life would be like, but it also got in the way when his actual not-normal life had to offer another adventure with Sherlock Holmes. Today, there was no adventure for the two of them, no new case and no miracle, but all those people with their sore throats, headaches and gastro duodenal disorders were unnerving John nevertheless. After his lunch break the boredom of not having any patients was interrupted by Sherlock’s appearance on Facebook, but ever since then there had been a steady flow of new patients, so that John had no opportunity to check his phone for news on Facebook. He was nearly painfully aware of his phone in his right pocket, nearly jumping when he again imagined his phone to be vibrating. He really wanted to know what Sherlock was doing on Facebook, and John had no idea why, but this was nearly as exciting as a new case for John. He was used to Sherlock doing experiments, keeping body parts everywhere in the kitchen and occasionally setting something on fire. All these things, which made other people call Sherlock a freak, were quite normal for John now. But Sherlock doing something as banal as getting a Facebook account, this was oddly new. Only imagining Sherlock sitting in his armchair, analysing every tiniest bit of information he was sharing, made John grin stupidly, what, he suddenly realised, was hardly appropriate as there was an old woman with an artificial hip sitting in front of him, complaining about how she could not climb up the stairs anymore. John was unusually side tracked for the whole day. After three more patients, John signalled Sarah to not send a new patient in right now, so that he could take a short break.

 

Under the pretext of having to go to the bathroom, John took out his phone to check on Facebook notifications. There were none, but he opened the app anyway, just to see what Sherlock had been up to. John scrolled down his timeline and found the bits of information Sherlock had added to his profile. Sherlock had found and befriended their mutual friends, had added information about his job and his talents, John saw all the languages Sherlock spoke and could not help it but be astonished once again. Sherlock was simply a miracle, and although he insisted that speaking more than 5 languages fluently was nothing special and had also pointed out that languages were Mycroft’s field of expertise, John was impressed. He had often heard Sherlock speak German, and English of course, but John will never forget the occasions on which he had heard Sherlock speaking French.

 

Although John had never been particularly fond of France or its culture, he was definitely fond of Sherlock speaking French. His low baritone rumbling and slurring all these soft sounds melodically was incredibly erotic and in some way obscene that only the thought of it made John inhale sharper than it would have been appropriate. He shook his head. What was he thinking? Sitting on a closed toilet, spying on his flatmate’s activities on a social network, evoking sexual thoughts involving already mentioned flatmate. Especially the latter happened far too often, John was aware of that, and since Sherlock had never shown any interest in anything beyond friendship with John, or anyone else, John was sure that all this had to stay in his head, a little fantasy like everyone had. No need to get the hopes up. Not again. All these moments in which John had thought Sherlock would finally make a move, would say something, would at least give John the hint to do something, had passed unused. Every single time, John got more wound up, desperate for something that would explain what all this means. But there never came anything. After all those years John came to believe the sexual tension that came up between them occasionally had been nothing but existing in John’s head.

 

John had realized there was something between them the first day they had met. There had been a tension, something he could not describe sufficiently that made John unaware for anything other than Sherlock and after finally acknowledging that John felt way more than just pure friendship towards his flatmate, he had tried to make a move. He wanted Sherlock in any way Sherlock would be comfortable with, wanted to give Sherlock anything he was willing to take, but it never came to more than what they always had. Sherlock seemed to have been completely blind for John’s attempts, or, even worse, he had chosen to ignore them. However, both options had the same result: John kept his feelings to himself and tried to not explore them any further. Well, there had been one or the other dream and occasional image of Sherlock while he masturbated, but he tried to dismiss any conscious thought of Sherlock for their friendship’s sake. If Sherlock was only comfortable with being friends, then John would gladly take this offer. Everything was better than losing him again. Realizing that he had been away far too long by now, he decided to take one last look at his Facebook timeline to get back to work than. John scrolled up to refresh the page and waited. There were the usual status-updates. Mrs Hudson had cooked something and posted a photo, one of his former army mates announced that he would move from London to Edinburgh to live with his girlfriend. Nothing spectacular. But when John almost put his phone back into his trousers to go back to his office he saw something that caught him completely off-guard. John had to read it more than four times to be entirely sure he had not got anything wrong, but there was nothing to mistake it for. The post was more than 10 minutes old and surely a simple mistake would have been edited by now. The phone fell out of John’s hands, which were, he realized once he was back in his office, shaking. He could not recall how he picked up his phone again, how he got out of the toilet, how he got back to his office or who the patient now sitting in front of him was. There was only one thing in his mind right now and this was the profile update he had just seen.

_Sherlock Holmes is in love and it is complicated._


	4. Chapter 4

He really did not know why he’d done it, but for some reason, Sherlock felt relieved. He had made a move, a tiny, almost non-existent move, but a move nonetheless. There wasn’t even a guarantee that John would see the update, but somehow Sherlock knew John would. He simply had to because otherwise they had to go on as it was and Sherlock did not want that. Now that he was aware of the fact that he was feeling something, he did not want to push these feelings aside anymore, he wanted to act on them. He didn’t link John in the relationship status though, although this would have been an option. But it didn’t feel right. Yes, Sherlock wanted to be with John, and he wanted to be something more than just friends, but they still had to talk about this. Tagging John without talking about it first could maybe be a bit overwhelming and there still was the possibility of Sherlock misreading the signs. He did not want to consider this an option, but it definitely was one.

 

John always stated he was not actually gay, so there was the possibility that John did not want to be more than friends and flatmates, that he was interested in a relationship, physical or romantic, with Sherlock. If that was the case, Sherlock could simply dismiss the update as a little experiment on social behaviour he did out of boredom. ‘ _How do people react when they believe a sociopath with no genuine feelings whatsoever to be in love’_ , or something equally trivial. Everyone would believe that this was one of Sherlock’s usual quirks, and no harm would be done. Yes, it surely was better not to tag John. He would just finish his profile and see how everyone reacted to this status, while he was waiting for John to come home. Sherlock refreshed the page and saw that there were some comments on some of his updates. Lestrade had posted to his profile, ‘ _Nice to have you around here, mate!’,_ boring. Sherlock bit a harsh answer back, preferring to see if someone had commented on his relationship status. Lo and behold, three likes and three comments. Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade had liked his status as well as commented on it. No trace of John. Maybe he had not yet seen it, but on the other side John was chronically bored at work and had also accepted his friend request, so Sherlock thought that John must’ve seen what Sherlock had posted. He did not know if the fact that John had not yet answered to this in any kind was a good or a bad sign and wondered what would happen when John came home. Dismissing all kinds of thoughts that go in a direction Sherlock did not want to consider, he decided to look at the comments.

 

It was little wonder that Mrs Hudson was the first one to comment _‘Ohh Sherlock, I always knew it. When will I meet him?’_ Him. Sherlock did not know why, but Mrs Hudson had always suspected that Sherlock was gay. But this was only half true for it was not that easy. He rarely felt any attraction at all, and was not only interested in looks. The person he felt especially interested in had not only to be attractive somehow, but also, more importantly, intellectually stimulating. Most people were too dull and with that not interesting enough for Sherlock, it was easy at that. That the people he had been interested in so far were all men was a minor concern for Sherlock. While looking at the other comments, Sherlock registered that the others were by far not as enthusiastic as Mrs Hudson.

 

Lestrade did not seem to know how to react to the news ‘ _Umm, good for you, I guess. Will we meet your significant other?’._ Sherlock nearly broke in laughter when he read ‘significant other’. Lestrade had, purposely, Sherlock guessed, avoided using a pronoun in order to not act on a wrong assumption on Sherlock’s sexual orientation. But although it was rather polite of him to do so, Sherlock was annoyed by the fact that Lestrade had said something although he did not seem to know what to say. Why do people always do that? Why did everyone have the urge to say something although they don’t have anything particularly interesting to say? Sherlock just shook his head to that. Sometimes, he was nothing but clueless about what was going on in the heads of ordinary people or why they acted like they did. With that, Sherlock looked at what Molly had written and while Lestrade had been somehow embarrassed Molly simply was shocked.

 

 _‘I’m happy for you…I really am… Congratulations…’_. She did not seem to be happy at all, thought Sherlock. Somehow all these unnecessary full stops were a little over the edge and it seemed like she had much more to say on that topic than she actually did. Of course, Sherlock knew what she wanted to say, he wasn’t completely blind. He had always been aware of Molly’s attempts to flirt with him, but while she was not unbearably dull and a quite useful resource for body parts, he was not attracted to her in any way. She was not his type, not what he wanted his partner to be like. She wasn’t John. Sherlock hoped John would mention the update, would at least show interest in the topic. He could not stand not knowing what would happen next. John would be home in about an hour, so Sherlock shut down the Facebook app and put his mobile aside to lie down on the couch, taking his usual pose again. He just wanted to wait and think until John would come home and they would have the talk they had been avoiding for nine years.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Why was the time moving so slowly? Was this even possible? After he had returned to his office, John had been more absent than he had been at his first day in the clinic, and he had not even been awake then. The only thing in his mind was what he had just seen. _‘Sherlock Holmes is in love and it is complicated’._ What was all this about? John could not even remotely form a coherent thought and wondered if that was what Sherlock felt like all the time. No wonder he got distressed sometimes, it had just been minutes and John was about to go mad. There was nothing John could imagine that would be a sufficient explanation for what Sherlock had posted there. Maybe he had just been bored and had wanted to see what the reactions were, but John thought this highly unlikely. Sherlock was not a man to experiment with expressing sentiment. No, there must be something more, something John had maybe seen but not observed and analysed. He sat in a cab, his mind racing while he desperately tried to ignore the slight fluttering in his stomach. It would not do any good to get his hopes up again. John must have missed something, or rather someone. He tried to think of all people Sherlock had shown any interest in, other than himself.

 

There had been Irene Adler, the woman, but she was dead, Mycroft had been sure of that. Secondly, there had been Janine. Maybe it had not been a farce at all? Maybe Sherlock had really, genuinely liked her and had really wanted to be with her. After all she was clever, funny and rather attractive and would therefore make a nice match for Sherlock. But had John been that blinded? He had been working, naturally, but John certainly would have known if Sherlock and Janine were dating, wouldn’t he? Other than these two, John had no clue about women Sherlock had been interested in. But what if Sherlock was not interested in women at all? They had never really talked about these things after what happened at Angelo’s the first time they had been there, but after all John knew, Sherlock could also be interested in men. If that was the case, there are even less possibilities than there were if he was interested in women. The only man Sherlock had shown interest in had been Moriarty, and he was, as far as John knew, also dead. So, who was the mysterious person Sherlock Holmes was in love with? John simply did not want to believe that he did not recognize the signs indicating that Sherlock was dating someone. And if Sherlock really had not met someone John did not know about and wasn’t dating someone he believed Sherlock would be interested in, there was only one option left. John, still sitting in the cab he had hailed in front of the clinic, tried really hard to ignore the pleasant feeling that dared to rise in him, filling every inch of his body and every part of his mind. He was only three streets away from their flat, only three streets away from 221 B Baker Street, only three streets away from Sherlock and whatever would happen then. It was 4.23 pm.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last one. Thanks to those of you who came back to read the end of the story:)

It was nearly half past four, which meant that John would be back home any minute now and Sherlock became more and more impatient. He checked his phone one last time. John had still not commented on any of Sherlock’s updates and Sherlock did not know what to make of that, although he could imagine that this particular piece of information might have caught John a bit off guard. Any minute now. Sherlock did not even know what he would say when John entered the flat, but making a plan would simply be a waste of efforts. The outcome mainly depended on how John would react when he came home. And certainly, it was far too late to come up with a plan now considering the fact that Sherlock heard a cab pull by outside the flat, which he was sure, was the cab John had hailed. A few moments later, he was proven right. He heard John open the front door and climb the stairs. He was not limping, but took slightly hesitant steps and seemed slower than usual. There was no doubt that John followed the same train of thought that hat occupied Sherlock’s mind before, provided that John had indeed seen what Sherlock had posted. John stood in front of the door, still hesitating, when he finally, after a few moments that seemed like hours for Sherlock, opened the door and entered the flat.

 

Sherlock tried to act casually and did not even look up when John entered the flat. That was what he always did, after all. At first, John stood by the door, looking at Sherlock. He could almost feel John’s stare bore into the back of his head, but Sherlock would be damned if he was the one to start the talking. Luckily, John seemed to know what Sherlock was thinking and started to talk.

 

‘Um… Afternoon, Sherlock. Everything fine?’

 

John had decided to pretend he did not know anything, or so it seemed. Fine, Sherlock knew how to play along. John would cut the topic eventually.

 

‘Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it?’

 

‘I don’t know. Maybe there is… uh… news? Something you would like to tell or share with me?’

 

And there they were. Sherlock’s lip curled slightly, a smutty smile emerging on his face. He knew John was not going to let the topic unaddressed. John hated not knowing, especially when it came to Sherlock who could understand John’s dislike. It was slightly annoying, but after Sherlock’s fall and the years they had spent apart from each other, Sherlock understood what John felt like when Sherlock had secrets and so Sherlock was happy to provide any piece of information John wanted, no exceptions. However, he had no rules whatsoever about how easy John would get the data he wanted.

 

‘John, do you want to talk about something in particular? If that is the case, maybe you should get to the point to spare us some time. I think we would both would appreciate that’

 

Sherlock got up into a sitting position, turning to John now. John still stood by the door, now moving to get rid of his jacket. After hanging it on the hook, John dropped his hands to his sides, not knowing what to do with them. He clenched his hands into fists and unclenched them, something John always tended to do when he did not know how to say or do something. John was obviously looking for words, phrasing and rephrasing questions in his head. Sherlock just sat there and looked at John waiting for the doctor to say something.

 

‘Okay, um… You - I mean, I have seen your Facebook profile, glad you found something to occupy your mind for a bit…’

 

‘So you wanted to congratulate me on finding something to busy myself with? Not that I don’t appreciate your thought, but it’s hardly a great accomplishment, isn’t it?’

 

Sherlock really enjoyed himself, taking a sadistic pleasure in teasing John a bit. He did not even try to hide a smug smile and directly looked at John. The doctor, on the other hand, was not pleased at all. He knew Sherlock was teasing him for not getting to the point.

 

‘Oi, Sherlock, you know what I am talking about! I have seen all your updates. What is all this about?’

 

It seemed like a little anger seemed to loosen John’s tongue, so Sherlock decided to play dumb a bit longer, just to get the tension up a bit. After all, this was the most exciting thing to happen in weeks and Sherlock was craving for something not blissful and domestic.

 

‘No John, I most certainly do not know what you are talking about. As far as I know, this is what one does on Facebook, isn’t it? Updating one’s profile for everyone to see?’

 

‘Sherlock! Stop playing all dumb and innocent! This is not what I meant and you know that perfectly well. What I really mean is your relationship status, for Christ’s sake. Honestly, Sherlock, why couldn’t you be arsed to care to tell me about that? I mean, I’m happy for you, of course. But why didn’t you tell me? After all we have been through you just – You are my best friend, Sherlock, you really are, and I always thought that you felt the same way. But you don’t! You are still keeping secrets from me and –‘

 

‘- Yes, John, I am keeping secrets from you, you are quite right about that. But before you question everything we are, why don’t you just ask me what you want to know? Maybe this will help you understand’

 

This was the turning point and Sherlock knew it. Sherlock had to intervene before John got too worked up because of his secretive little game and he was sure he did not want that. He did not want for John to be angry, sad or disappointed, so offering John all the data he wanted was the only way. Even if that meant that Sherlock had to tell the only secret he had kept from John. For him, it was now or never.

 

‘Okay. So, why didn’t you tell me that you are, as your profile states it, in love? Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?  Why didn’t you introduce me to – There we have it! I don’t even know whether to say ‘him’ or ‘her’! Just… why didn’t you tell me?’

 

Sherlock drew in a shaky breath. This was the moment he had dreaded the most since he had decided to make a move towards John. He would have to lay out everything in front of John, but Sherlock had known that from the start, and it was not like he could draw back at this point.

 

‘I could not tell you because I just realized that I was in love… I simply did not know before. Your second question is harder to answer. I did not see anyone behind your back, if you mean that. I did not tell you because I was not seeing someone. At least not in the sense you think I did. Regarding your next question, I really don’t think introducing would be necessary. In fact, I imagine it would be rather odd. And just for the record, you should say ‘him’, not ‘her’’

 

‘Okay, so it is a man. But why don’t you want me to meet him? Why don’t you want to introduce me to him? I mean, we live together, he should get to know the an you live with, after all.’

 

‘You do know yourself, John. There is no point in introducing you to yourself again’

 

‘Of course I know myself. I don’t want to get to know me, I want to get to - OH!’

 

So, John finally came to understand. He looked unsure though, still standing where he had been standing when they had started this conversation. But there were differences, nearly undetectable for other people, but Sherlock knew John and the ways John’s body responded to something unexpected. John’s eyes were blown wide, lips slightly parted. He still clenched and unclenched his fists as a result of too much nervous energy that had built up in him. But there was no sign of anger anymore and Sherlock also could not find any sign of disgust. John just was astonished and maybe, so Sherlock thought, it was the good kind of astonishment.

 

‘So, when you – when you updated that status, you have meant me? You stated this because you are in love with me?’

 

‘John, please keep up. I already said that’

 

‘No you didn’t, you just implied it, to be exact. And I would really want to hear it, though’

 

John had dropped his gaze to his shoes and he had gone quiet, the last sentence only a murmur, as if he was embarrassed to say this out loud.

 

‘You would?’

 

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be surprised. Did that mean what he thought it meant? That John wanted to hear it said out loud because he had wanted _this_?

 

‘Yes, yes I really would. I always thought you knew’

 

‘How would I now? As you are fully aware this is not really my area and I came to realize that I love you just now and not years ago. I’m rubbish at these things, John and I do believe that you deserve better, I just could not hold back. I’m sorry’

 

Sherlock looked down, the sudden realization that he simply was not good enough for John had hit him hard and without a warning. He had not even thought about that. But apparently, John was having none of that. He took a few steps to reach Sherlock where he sat on the couch, kneeling down in front of him. Of course John would comfort him now, John always did that. It was as if he could not stand it when Sherlock was at unease. John lifted his left hand first to place it on Sherlock’s knee, and then he lifted his right hand to touch Sherlock’s cheek, John’s thumb stroking over the other man’s cheekbone.

 

‘Sherlock, you don’t have to be sorry. Why should you? Please Sherlock, look at me’

 

Sherlock lifted his head to meet John’s eyes, which were filled with nothing but affection and happiness. A sudden warmth filled Sherlock’s entire body, making him feel incredibly comfortable.

 

‘Sherlock, I am happy that you love me, I could not imagine anyone else I would rather have say that to me. I have hoped for this to happen for so long and if someone should be sorry, it should be me. I never said anything either, although there were so many opportunities where I should have’

 

‘So, you love me, too?’

 

Sherlock’s voice was a mere whisper now. He was afraid that if he would try to increase the volume of his voice, it would break.

 

‘Of course I do. Yes Sherlock, I really love you. It was always you, I have just been too cowardly to tell you’

 

Sherlock stared at John, processing what he had just heard but just a moment later, Sherlock’s expression altered and a bright smile appeared on his face. He smiled like he was the happiest person in the world and John suddenly realized that he had never seen Sherlock smile like this before. He looked so much younger, absolutely careless and beautiful. It was this moment when John decided it would be his task to make Sherlock smile like this every day from now on. John felt like he was about to burst with happiness when he leaned forward to finally do what he had imagined doing so many times.

 

Still touching Sherlock’s cheek with his hand, John guided Sherlock’s face to meet his. At first, it was just a brush of lips, an almost non-existent touch, but John found Sherlock shivering under his touch, which made him deepen the kiss, now delicately nipping at Sherlock’s lip, kissing him feverishly. John tenderly bit Sherlock’s lush bottom lip, which immediately made the detective moan deeply. Sherlock wanted more now, licking at John’s lips to make him part them and allow him to enter, which John did. Sherlock explored John’s mouth, playing with the other man’s tongue, occasionally flicking his tongue against the inside of John’s lips to tease him. He lost himself in this first kiss, the need of the past years finally welling up, coming to the surface to explode all at once. There was nothing important now, it was just the two of them. He wanted to do this for the rest of his life but had to break the kiss eventually to breath. Both men sat there, John still on his knees in front of Sherlock, panting and struggling to say anything, but smiling at each other like madmen. After all those years of restraint they were finally free and even if they did not say it, they would fight everybody who wanted to take that away from them.

 

After a few moments, Sherlock groped his phone from the table, seemingly texting. Just when John was about to complain that this maybe was not the right moment to text, Sherlock turned his phone for John to see what he had just typed in. John first looked at Sherlock who had raised his eyebrows as if asking a question, then he looked at the screen to find the Facebook app, not a text. He read what Sherlock had written and then nodded, fiddling his own phone out of his pocket. He opened the Facebook app as well, accepting the request he had just received, and smiled at his latest status update.

 

_John Watson is now in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes_

John looked up from his phone to find Sherlock looking at him, eyes bright with excitement, but before John could smile back at Sherlock, the detective pulled him into another kiss, obviously wanting to make up for all the opportunities they had missed, which John was in no way opposed of. They stayed like this for hours, just kissing, stoking each other’s faces and patting each other’s hair. John got up from the floor at some point, sat down next to Sherlock to pull the detective on top of him. They were together, in every possible sense now, and they were happy about that.

 

It was right there, in these blissful moments of utter happiness that Sherlock realized that with all this, with John kissing him and loving him and doing every other imaginable thing with him, he would never be bored again.

 


End file.
